


TLC

by TheNightComesDown



Series: The Pacific - Love Heals [4]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Blood, Fluff, M/M, Mild Language, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-24 00:23:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17090573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNightComesDown/pseuds/TheNightComesDown
Summary: While caring for comrades sick with malaria, Sledge discovers that Snafu has been hiding a wound.





	TLC

The air within Eugene Sledge’s tent was stifling, and all attempts to create air movement had failed. It was 105°F in the shade of the tent canopy – not an uncommon occurrence on the US military-occupied island of Pavuvu. The combination of heat and humidity left every man’s uniform soaked in sweat, and from many a clothesline hung shirts white with salt crystals. In addition to the heat, the mosquito netting that hung down from the tent canopy restricted airflow. Most men on the island had personally experienced at least one bout of malaria, and preferred being too hot over having full-body shivers and diarrhea. Sledge sat cross-legged on his cot, reading a book loaned to him by a comrade. He held a pipe idly in his mouth, waiting for Snafu Shelton to return with their tobacco rations.  


On the far side of the tent, PFC Bill Leyden and PFC Jay De L’Eau slept restlessly on their cots. Both had neglected to take their daily dose of anti-malarials, and as a result had contracted the disease. The medical tent was overcrowded with malaria patients, so the two were forced to wait out their symptoms in their own tent. A corpsman had stopped by a few hours ago to check in and deliver cloths, which Sledge had soaked in water and placed against their feverish foreheads. Neither had vomited in the last few hours, but metal buckets sat beside their cots in case they felt nauseous. As Sledge turned the page of his book, Snafu ducked under the mosquito net and sprawled out on his cot.  


“Look at them fuckin’ idiots, sweatin’ and shiverin’ over there,” Snafu said, lighting a cigarette. “‘Parently some swabbie told Bill his dick was gon’ fall off if he kept takin’ them malaria pills, so he quit ‘em right then and there.” Snafu snorted, shaking his head at their comrade’s naivety. Sledge continued to read his book. After a minute, he felt a slight tap on his knee, and looked up to see Snafu sitting up, holding out a pack of cigarettes to him.  


“Thanks,” Sledge smiled, brushing his fingers against Snafu’s as he took the cigarettes. “I haven’t smoked in hours, and I’m starting to get antsy.” He unrolled a cigarette and used the tobacco strands within it to fill his pipe. Pulling out a matchbook, Snafu struck a match and held it out, lighting Sledge’s pipe for him. He tossed the match onto the dirt floor of the tent and leaned back onto his cot. His feet, still clad in boots, hung off the end of the cot closest to Sledge.  


“I’m gettin’ mighty tired of waitin’ out here, Eugene,” Snafu sighed. “I don’t give a fuck where we go, but I can’t sit here waitin’ for days on end.” Sledge dog-eared his page and set his book aside. He glanced over at Snafu, who had covered his eyes with the palms of his hands.  


“I’m sure we’ll get orders soon,” Sledge assured him. He reached out and placed a hand on Snafu’s leg, giving it a reassuring squeeze. As he did, Snafu yelped and jerked his foot away.  


“Fuck, Sledge,” Snafu cursed, grabbing his leg, “watch it.” After a moment, he rolled the leg of his dungarees up to reveal a cloth bandage. A brown patch of dried blood stained the bandage, and bright red was beginning to seep through the fabric. Sledge set aside his pipe and knelt beside Snafu.  


“Snafu, where did you get that?” he asked, reaching for a clean cloth. He gently unwound the bandage, much to Snafu’s displeasure. The bandage was stuck to the wound beneath, and to prevent Snafu from feeling more pain, Sledge poured water from the jug beneath his cot onto the blood-soaked cloth to loosen it. A pungent odour was apparent before Sledge had taken the bandage off all the way, and he did his best to not wrinkle his nose as he took his first look at the wound.  


“It’s just a bit of jungle rot,” Snafu replied, eying the sore warily. “Only hurts if someone touches it.” An ulcer nearly two inches across had formed on Snafu’s shin. It oozed blood and pus, and the surrounding skin was red and inflamed.  


“This looks infected,” Sledge murmured, concern colouring his voice. “Have you seen medical about this recently?” Snafu pulled his leg away. Sledge put the back of his hand against Snafu’s forehead; he was burning up, and it wasn’t just because of the heat in the tent.  


“It’s not a big deal,” Snafu huffed. “They’ve got other issues to worry ‘bout, guys who’ve got it worse ‘n me. ” He grimaced as blood dripped from the wound and onto the canvas of his cot. Sledge reached up and put his hand over Snafu’s, which rested against his thigh.  


“Now, I’m not a doctor,” Sledge said sternly, “but I’ve heard enough of my father’s stories to know an infection when I see one.” Snafu rolled his eyes, but Sledge gripped his hand tightly. “Merriell, I’m serious,” he pleaded, “you can’t be running around in the mud with your leg like this. The infection could spread to your blood, and you’d go septic and die.” Snafu pulled his hand from Sledge’s grip.  


“Why should that matter to you?” Snafu snapped at him. “I’m fine, Sledge, just leave it alone.” Just then, Bill groaned loudly on the other side of the tent, drawing their attention. He rolled to his other side and was still. Sledge walked across the tent and stood beside Bill, who was shivering violently. The stench of shit suddenly filled the tent, making Sledge’s stomach turn.  


“What the hell…” Sledge trailed off as he noticed dark blood on the seat of Bill’s dungarees. “That can’t be good.” He turned to Snafu, whose jaw was clenched tightly. “What do you want me to do?” Sledge asked, exasperated. “Bill’s shitting blood, and you’ve got a fever and an infected wound. I feel completely helpless here.” He sat down on the edge of his cot and stared at the dirt floor. 

“Go find a corpsman,” Snafu said finally, breaking the silence. “Those two look like shit.” Sledge nodded, and without looking back at Snafu, he took off toward the medical tent.  


***

“Well,” the medic sighed as Bill and Jay were carried off on stretchers, “I’m glad to hear that you two have been regularly taking your anti-malarial medication. We have more men who are unable to fight because they’ve got the runs than those who have been hit by enemy fire.” The physician, a straight-laced man in his late 30’s, knelt beside Snafu’s cot. He opened his medical kit and pulled out a syringe and vial of morphine. As Snafu caught sight of the needle, he reached out and grabbed Sledge’s hand. The physician made no comment and continued to set up a sterile field around Snafu’s wound.  


“I hate needles,” Snafu groaned, clenching Sledge’s fingers tightly.  


“It’ll only hurt for a minute, Merriell,” Sledge reassured him. “Just a pinch, and you won’t feel a thing while the doc works on you.” The physician smiled reassuringly at Snafu, who laid his arm across his eyes and refused to open them until the needle had been put away.  


“I’m going to debride the dead tissue in your wound, Private Shelton,” the physician explained, “and then we’ll powder and wrap it. You can walk on the leg, but I’m going to recommend that you stay out of the water until this has healed.” Snafu released Sledge’s hand and leaned on his elbows so he could watch as the doctor cut away pieces of skin from his sore.  


“That’s fuckin’ disgustin’, Doc,” Snafu observed after a few minutes, his words slow and slurred. “I’m sure glad it’s you doin’ this and me killin’ Japs, and not the other way ‘round.” The physician smiled slightly and winked at Sledge.  


“I think the morphine is working,” Sledge remarked. “Good thing, too, he was starting to drive me crazy.” Snafu had closed his eyes and appeared to be falling asleep. “I hate to leave without finishing my work, but they’re terribly busy at the medical tent,” the physician said. “Are you comfortable applying the sulfa powder and wrapping the wound in gauze and bandages, Private Sledge?” Sledge nodded and shook hands with the physician. He waited until the doctor was out of sight before kneeling beside Snafu’s cot.  


“Merriell?” Sledge said softly, checking to see if he was actually asleep. Snafu’s breathing was even and slow, and his eyes remained closed. The physician had propped Snafu’s foot up with a rolled towel and had placed another above the wound, making it easy for Sledge to wrap Snafu’s leg in bandages. Sledge grabbed the supplies the doctor had left, and carefully opened the top of the powder bottle. He lightly dusted Snafu’s sore with sulfa powder and placed two thick squares of gauze over the wound.  


“I’m awake,” Snafu said, surprising Sledge. When Snafu didn't protest, he continued to dress the wound, aware that Snafu was watching him carefully. As he secured the bandage, Snafu reached a hand up and touched Sledge’s cheek. Sledge stiffened beside him, not daring to move.  


“Snafu,” he said cautiously, glancing around at the empty tents beside theirs, “you’ve had some pretty powerful drugs in your system, I don’t think—”  


“It’s not the morphine,” Snafu interrupted him. “I just wanted to say thanks. For taking care of me.” Snafu met his eyes, and waited for Sledge to respond. After a long pause, Sledge nodded and placed his hand over Snafu’s where it rested against his own jaw. As he drew Snafu's hand away, he brushed his lips gently against the man's calloused fingertips. Sledge moved his mouth down to Snafu's wrist, and kissed the delicate skin where his veins intersected.  


“Semper fi, Merriell,” Sledge whispered against Snafu's wrist, feeling his pulse as he held him there. Snafu squeezed Sledge’s hand and pulled it towards himself, placing it against his chest, above his beating heart.  


“Semper fi, Eugene,” Snafu answered.


End file.
